


Listen Up Kid

by technicallyGodless



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black-Red Vacillation, Breathplay, M/M, age gap, just in case yo, sort of, there isnt a definite quadrant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicallyGodless/pseuds/technicallyGodless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's you. But he's so much better in jut about every field than you are. Big buff bod, sharper horns, a glare that'd bring even the noblest of trolls to their knees."<br/>Dualscar helps teach his mini-me how to not be completely awful via some teaching methods he know will get through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen Up Kid

He's you. But he's so much better in jut about every field than you are. Big buff bod, sharper horns, a glare that'd bring even the noblest of trolls to their knees. A select few had the globes to stand up to that rock wall of a troll, and they only did due to clear physical or caste advantages. The Condesce had mannerisms akin to her mini-self, so you weren't surprised that he'd give in to her. And form the stories you'd heard about alt-Kurloz, you'd stay the fuck out of the Highbloods vantage just as he did. 

But the Orphaner didn't cower away from his betters like so many of his equals did. No, this guy just had to go out of his way to somehow show it down your throat that you'll never become anything akin to him. You were supposed to, apparently, but growing up wasn't in the universe's plan for Cronus Ampora. You always die, always have to be stuck as a perpetually pitiless little jerk-off who is a disgrace to his own species. He made it through the life you couldn't, albeit without having to play that game. 

And like fate had a vendetta on you for being the slimeball you are, it decided to allow you to come into contact with Killer-Pirate McGee himself. Flesh and blood - or whatever ghosts constituted of in bubbles - judging you with arms crossed and a look of shame and disapproval. It's clear he knows you're at least somehow from the same gene pool, sign on your shirt and close to identical horns aside. You know he knows, and maybe he knows you know he knows, because he lets out the minutest scoff.

You have a ridiculous thought process on a good night, so whatever's running through your pan by now is far from rational. You're conflicted between trying to hit on him and expressing the fact that you're about to shit your pants verbally, but thankfully the silent statue of a troll finally relieves that duty from you with a raised hand. 

"It's a phase, just so you know. You want attention right now and won't get anywhere acting the way ya are. It's just fuckin' sad, I can hardly call this pity." The Orphaner's looking down at you with squinted eyes, most likely trying to make sense of everything about you, but wait did he say something about pity? For a moment you're shaken at the sheer difference between your voices, your own having a laid-back, juvenile ring to it. His is as shaking as his appearance, deep and rumbling like thunder. He's right about this being a grab for attention, but he can't know you identified with humans. Does he even know what a human is? Maybe you can play the clothes off as some sort of rebellious phase he went through and can relate to.

That's exactly what you do, figuring pulling the wool over his eyes would be the best thing to restore any positive opinion he'd have of you. "I completely agree, chief, you're all in the right here. Just thought it'd catch an eye or two, y'know?" He nods, he knows what you're saying. Or he's letting you think so, whatever the case things aren't too full of malice. 

Dualscar takes a stiff step toward you, hand outstretched and coming for your neck. Instinct tells you to flinch away and you do straight away, giving him a wary look. Adult trolls were a thing to be cautious around, whether or not you were in mid-adolescence. With what you assume to be a roll of the eyes, he flattens the fins on his ears slowly against the sides of his face to signify he mans no harm, hand slowly upturning to bare his palm. You still don't trust anything that guy is doing and bodily stay put with your back against your wall, but your fins flit back and forth once to give permission. Seadwellers have some weird unspoken signals, alright? 

But now you're focused on him stepping closer once more, hand gradually moving to pinch your chin between his fingers. He tilts your face up and around, seemingly observing you like some kind of specimen, ad you don't really like it. You're in no place to do what you do, namely wrench your chin out of his grasp and frown up at him like a little brat. Just who does he think he is, getting you against a wall and studying you like an animal? Yeah, that's actually a cool thing to say. "Just who do you think you are, getting me against a wall and studying me like some kind of animal, eh?" 

What you earn in response is borderline infuriating. He doesn't look offended, he doesn't even get angry. The troll has the nerve to crack a condescending smirk at you. He even fucking chuckles, who the hell is he to be laughing at _himself_. Whatever the case, that thought obviously doesn't get to him. All he does is close you in more and returns his hand to where it had been, squeezing your chin so hard you're afraid he's going to give you a permanent cleft. 

"Ow! Lay off, would ya, that fucking hurts. Yeah you're bigger and stronger and all that, but come on I ain't done anything you wouldn't have. Because if you hadn't noticed, Daddy-O, I kind of am y-" Your voice is cut off when his hand slides with almost practices ease from your chin to your throat, casually shoving your head against the wall. A literally choked sound bubbles from your throat, hands flying up to pry at his own ringed one. He isn't cutting off your air completely, it's like he's doing it just enough to make your breath come laboriously and have it rattle in your chest a bit. What was he trying to prove here? 'I could double-kill you right now, but I won't.' or something? 

Again your questions are answered before you can rasp anything out or wrench his hand away. "It'd do seven different kinds of wonders if ya learned the skill a shuttin' your mouth. May as well teach ye a good lesson now in the form of a little obey-then-reward, eh?" He's wearing a snide expression you don't think you care for and your own is twisted into as menacing a look you can manage. You're flushed sufficiently violet from the struggle to breathe, fins flared wide as they'll go and eyes squinting in challenge. Why doesn't he just knock you around and leave for the eternity you'll be stuck here anyway? Why is something you've no answer to, but he has a motive. 

You don't give in completely, you're still clawing at his hand and arm enough to draw thin violet lines on his rough skin. But you nod. The only movement you can really manage right then, the slightest of nods to avoid being strangled completely. This makes him happy, you've made a good choice. 

"Atta boy. Now, you're listenin' to everything I say, this is a lesson. Fail to do as I tell you, I can manage much worse than this," he growls, tightening his grip for just a second as if to prove his point. "But. I mentioned reward bein' a thing. You actually get something out a what I'm sayin' and you'll get good things in return." And then you're really sure he's just motioned to your lower half, but there's no time to think on it. His hand is squeezing at your windpipe, pulling you to stand at full attention. 

And now you really can't breathe, but you focus on what he's saying and keep good posture for fear he won't let go if you don't listen. "Lesson number one, keep yer damn back straight. Nobody likes a slouch, especially in someone of such a high class as you. You're violet an you better start actin like it, you little disgrace. Got that, Cronus?" Your head bobs insistently, back straight as a rail and shoulder set back in a prideful stance you aren't all to foreign with. He approves, thank the heavens, and loosens his grip once more to jut barely resting on your throat. His thumb runs along your jugular idly as he grins down at you in appreciation. 

"Good, keep up just like that. Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.." You're happy for the praise for whatever reason, maybe it just became associated with being able to breathe. There's a moment of quiet that puts on on unease, wondering what he's going to pull. Maybe this was all some elaborate ruse to embarrass you before he took your life (death?) or something, but your mind does a complete 180 off the half pipe when there is a knee pushing itself between your legs. Alright, this is not what you expected or would ever assume to happen. You're the one to make advances, but oh right he is you just older and hotter and generally more experienced. Great.

"What're you-" Cut off, simultaneous lack of air and a grind of his knee against your crotch. These two feelings should never coincide but shit, there's friction on your nook and sheathe you couldn't care less. You jsut don't want to pass out or something in the middle of whatever this turns out to be, so you assure your posture is aces despite vaguely shaking legs as you look to him for whatever the next 'lesson' is going to be. 

Clicking his tongue and pulling his knee back to just barely press against you, his eyebrows raise. "What'd I say about shuttin' up? I don't want ta hear a peep out a you unless its got directly to do with agreein' with me or some sort a noise that you're sure to be full of. This is countin' as lesson two, you better thank me later fer bein' so generous. You got that?" Loosened grip, but he makes a point to scratch his claws against your neck just enough to break skin. 

"Y-yeah, I got it," you manage to cough out, sputtering for breath for a few moments. He decides your recovery time can double as reward period, jutting his knee up against your sheathe a few times in what you assume to be an effort to get you to unsheathe in your pants. They were tight, that would hurt like hell, but there he was, deciding that redoubling his efforts was a swell idea. Your bulge began to peek out and god you hated him so much right then, this was going to be all kinds of constricting.

The bastard knows what he's done, still dragging his knee in a spot that makes you bit back a groan and buck against him like the desperate adolescent you are. "Keep that back straight now." He chuckles again to himself lowly, dragging his nails down your close to bruising neck to the hem of his shirt. "White. Don't wear this stupid thing anymore, what kind a troll d'you know what wears white? I'll help you get started on this bit." And alright, the fucker is _ripping your fucking shirt_. You are having none of that, despite your shirt already having been torn beyond repair, the sign on your chest ripped down the middle to expose your chest. 

"Not the duds, chief. You can't just do that to a guy's threads, even if you don't like em. How'd you like it if I..?" This is the most moronic thing you've done in your life and death combined, but it's already too late. Your stupid hand is already at the collar of his shirt, tearing into maybe an inch before he's stopped you. His hands are on your wrists before you can think to protest, slamming them to the wall on either side of your head with force you should have anticipated. 

"What. Did I just. Say." There isn't a hint of questioning in his voice and you're mildly terrified but you have to answer, at least apologize so he doesn't snap your damned wrists. 

"I-I'm sorry, was supposed to be quiet and that was vway outta line. I won't pull nothing like that again, promise." Your fins are drooped in defeat, the seadweller equivalent to rolling over to show your stomach. You hope to the gods he'll take the smallest bit of pity on you, but his reserve doesn't waver. You're fucked. 

But he says nothing, just juts his knee up against your nook to the point where it almost hurt and pushes your hands above your head together so he can hold them down with one arm. The other is immediately back at your throat, and for a millisecond you're looking forward to it. That was by far the most depraved thought you'd had in perigees, but it was backed up with the fact that the Orphaner was closer than ever, pressing against you ever part possible that wasn't put at an awkward angle due to the hand now pushing and squeezing on your neck. You grind up at him and he meets it with a more controlled version, your movements alike but his are better. Just as in every other field, you suppose. 

Your face is going more and more purple by the second, from equal parts arousal and lack of oxygen. But he doesn't let up, just keeps his hold and ruts against you to the point where you're only half sheathed and nearly dripping with uncomfortable need. You whine with what little air you have left to push out, wriggle in his grasp with not as much fight as you could use. Thankfully the man isn't completely heartless and lets up on your airway, letting you gasp greedily for air. 

You're shaking with the effort it takes to keep composed stature, but you're doing it and that's an impressive enough feat in itself. He's nodding at something, you didn't say anything, maybe he did when you weren't paying attention? In any case, he's now attacking your lips with a ferocity you'd normally use to describe a hungry animal. Not going to back away though, this was hot and you're pretty sure you're getting laid at some point in the incredibly near future. At the very least you had the fucked-up bragging rights over this guy hateflirting with you hardcore. The thought gets a smile out of you as you press into the kiss, all teeth and sucking noises. 

It really sounds gross, were you an outsider you'd probably be more turned off than anything. But it was happening to you, there were countless pinpricks of violet coming from both your lips and his, and you swear he pulls away nearly as breathless as you. But his composure is far better, merely a dusting of lavender on his own cheeks as opposed to the practically glowing flush radiating from your cheeks. You're about to lean in for more, lips mid-reach when he pulls away from you completely. Your arms are falling asleep above your head, and you decide now would be a good time to shake them out. 

"So are we gonna..?" You trail off, glancing down at the shamefully wet patch staining your jeans. The damn things are far too tight for comfort now, making you grit your teeth in an effort to keep from whining about it much more than you already are. 

The Orphaner merely gives you a complacent one-over from his vantage point a good foot further away from you than you can deal with. But he's still teaching you or whatever it seems. "Patience. That's what we'll get into next. Maybe not always in the respiteblock, but it is a tactic useful in close ta every field, ya know." Ugh, you have none of that and he should have gathered that the second he decided to appear in your damn room. No matter, he had your attention for the nest couple seconds at least. 

With a seemingly indifferent sigh, the troll before you is unclasping his ridiculously gaudy cape and draping it carefully over a nearby chair. Talk about overkill, come on he could have just tossed it aside really. He moving on to the straight violet armor that covers most of his chest and abdomen, intermittently around his stomach due to the gaps in the shape of your sign. Every piece is torture, you're all for strip teases but this is just unfair. Finally the presumably heavy armor is all placed in a neat pile beside his cape, leaving him in a skin-tight black shirt (that now has a nick in the neck, score one for Cronus) and some worn looking pants. 

But he's just standing there with his arms crossed now, blinking at you and inspecting you once more. He's waiting for you to crack, you realize, and the tightrope that is your mental strength is being pulled thinner than ever before. But you mustn't break, you're getting what you want if that means staring alternate you down for nights on end. You're getting this. 

"Tch. You're lastin' longer than I'd have pegged ya. If it weren't for how awfully tight those slacks look, I'd make you squirm for longer. Remember to pay mind to others' needs, you self-centered little prick. Not with me, I'm the instructor, but ye get the deal, yeah?" You're nodding before he's finished saying anything, hands moving to your zipper at lightning speed. No no though, can't do anything yourself apparently. He on you and swatting your hands away before you've got a firm hold on anything, grumbling nothings at you as he gets them undone and tugs them down along with your underwear unceremoniously. You kick them off your ankles and nearly trip in the process, earning a mocking snort from the troll hovering over you. 

'Alright, I'm as naked as it comes, what about you big guy?' you as silently, glaring at his pants intently. He just mumbles "Patience," and makes use of his hands to stroke at your close to fully unsheathed bulge with surprisingly gentle fingers. You gasp at the direct contact from hands that aren't yours, biting your bloody lip to hold back from making any pathetic noises so early. Can't give him the satisfaction of knowing you're literally in the palm of his hand. He pulls back, not without running a single finger across your slit teasingly, wiping whatever material from his fingers onto his trousers. 

"Well, I think you've learned quite well. Even kept you shoulders back, what a good boy." He peppers you with praise while you shudder against the wall, willing him to get out of those damn pants ,you needed something in you or around you right now. Patience had worn out, and he knew that just as well. 

With a half swift half clumsy movement you're pretty sure only he could pull off, Dual's pants are off and being kicked to the general vicinity of the rest of his shit. His shirt is still on and you don't like that much, but it didn't matter. His own bulge was writhing similarly to your own, his apparently allowed to unsheathe with more ease considering his far looser choice of pants. You're nodding, almost shivering with anticipation and setting your jaw to hold back any potential complaint, because ah thank god he's got his arms on either side of you to the wall, pushing your lower halves together to allow your bulges to entwine and god that felt incredible. 

You're sighing at every movement, shaky arms moving up to wrap around his shoulders and hold on tightly. He's almost hunched over to meet up with you, groaning right in your damn ear in that position. It's all you can hear above your quickened breath and you can;t get enough. With one hand, you reach down to hesitantly get your bulges apart. Once yours is separate, you begrudgingly hold it up and still, away from your nook. It's the sweetest invitation you'er sure anyone's ever been offered, but of course he has to drag this out as well. 

His hips still, bulge moving on its own accord to stroke the lips of your nook over and over. You've taken to humming out a constant note, hips bucking at his to try and get his bulge to quit the feather-light teasing strokes and get on with the show. Eventually just the tip is pushed in by a lucky movement of yours coinciding with his, causing him to hiss and your eyelids to flutter with satisfaction. Now that he was in he wasn't going to pull back, or at least you hoped that was the case. 

He apparently was fine with finally getting on with it, hands drifting to your thighs to spread your legs just a bit more to accommodate him between them, then resting at your hips to use as a hold as he finally pressed in. Agonizingly slowly, but you were getting what you wanted and it felt so much better than fingers, a bigger stretch but a natural feeling nothing else could replicate. You're keening, eyes shut tight as he's finally inside completely. To your relief, the troll takes no time in getting adjusted, moving almost immediately. 

Your leg finds its way latched around his hips, both helping you into a more comfortable position and pulling him into you just that much deeper. The angle was golden, working wonders for you and milking noises even you would be ashamed of out of your lips. He's gripping your hips for deal life, bucking up into you roughly and developing a comfortable pace gradually. You're sighing and moaning and he's groaning about how much you'd learned, some half-assed statements pertaining to his previous lessons. You were sure to retain the knowledge to stand up straight after he'd fucked you into a wall, this was just common sense. 

Soon you're clawing his shoulders a little harder than intended and he reciprocates by digging nails into your hips and ass. Those were going to be pretty marks. You're not built to last very long, especially with the feeling of his bulge ramming inside you and the nearly possessive growling he's started up. This was too much, and you were going to make a fool out of yourself by coming first but it was inevitable. He'd understand, he had to. 

"H-ha Dual.. Think I'm gonna.." Your breath hitches into a particularly shameless noise and you tighten, everything from your eyes to your toes is clenching tightly as you moan out his title. He lets you ride it out, thrusting into you roughly a few more times before stilling inside you and biting into your shoulder to muffle a lovely noise you could only wish to hear again. 

A few seconds pass of panting and catching breath before you realize you feel fuller than you should, that neither of you had gotten a pail, shit. Did he seriously just..? His bulge is retracting with a slick noise, making you shudder as yours eventually does the same. You can feel the material leaking out of you and this just may be the most shame-inducing, incredibly taboo, wrong thing you've ever had done to you. You seldom made jokes about using another as a pail, that was even a bit raunchy for you. But here you are, clutching to a ghost of who you should have been as his material drips from your nook. 

It takes a second for you to find the strength to stand on your own, but once you can you're standing at full height, mouth agape as you stare at him and he's grinning. His mouth is turned up at the corners, you couldn't mistake that disgusting smile's existence. He _meant_ to do that. 

"Are you.. did you really jut pull that shit on purpose?" You know he did, quit asking stupid questions. He just nods, almost snickering as he stoops down to pick up the remains of your shirt. Your jaw sets into a scowl as he wipes the violet from your lips first, then the viscous material from your nook and thighs. You couldn't save that shirt if you'd wanted to anymore, there was no washing and sewing the thing. The fuck were you even going to wear, old dream clothes? How did that even work? 

"You better have a very nice replacement shirt for me by dusk tomorrow or I'm flipping the hell out. Or something." You don't actually think there's much you could hold as a threat to the guy who could overpower you with a hand behind his back, so you wear your best frown. You're too exhausted to offer more than that, already making a move for your 'coon. A good few hours in there was well deserved after the crazy morning that had served to be. 

"Aye, don't get your little flushed panties in a bunch. I'll figure somethin' out for ye lad." He laughs a hearty laugh, peeling off his shirt to get in after you. He's scarred to bits, the ones on his face just a sneak peak of the absolute massacre on his chest and back. They're fascinating, and you decide taking time to study him sometime would be marvelous.

It's a tight fit in the recuperacoon with the two of you squeezed in there, but he's holding you to his chest and you think that this is alright for now. Long term is a question you can ask when the first moon has risen. You think that if he sticks around, he'd make out to be an interesting quadrantmate. Exactly where you weren't sure, but that didn't matter now. Drifting to sleep with your head on his chest was the most pressing matter as of then, and you're okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> who doesnt like a little amporacest with some breathplay mixed in there?


End file.
